RP:Vakmatharas Falls

From HollowWiki

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc



Part of the To Haunt A Hero Arc



Summary: Reginae of Alithrya along with her student, Pilar, find Hildegarde in Vailkrin and is pleased to see that her return is not just a foul rumour! The two consolidate their friendship with an alliance, one that had been promised before Hildegarde's death, and look forward to their future together as allies. Then they are interrupted by the fallen hero, Lionel, who pledges himself to Hildegarde's cause. Hildegarde doesn't seem too pleased about the manner in which he goes about it, but there's no time to dwell on it as Vakmatharas is falling down...

Great Hall of Vailkrin

Hildegarde had been delighted in the deal she had struck with Kreekitaka, returning from Cenril with a grin upon her face. It had been a good and strong deal. Perhaps, when she reclaimed Frostmaw, she would be known for her diplomacy and alliance building skills. She just had to work on reclaiming Frostmaw first. That was the hard part. The knight had returned to the castle of Vailkrin, finding herself in the Great Hall occupying a cosy armchair with her short-sword in her lap and a whetstone in her hand. The Silver gently and lovingly caressed the blade with the whetstone, sharpening its already fatally sharp edge. One always had to be prepared for anything, after all. A sharp blade was a good blade.


Reginae had been elated when Pilar told the naga that Hildegarde was in the city. Finally. All that searching could be cast aside for some real answers from the Dragon herself. It was with great caution that the woman allowed her student to lead her here, to this hall and it was a great wave of relief that fell over her when she saw the woman in question sitting in the arm chair. Regi couldn't help but smirk, cocky as ever, because Hildegarde looked as alive as the last time she'd seen her. Not the least bit like a thing died and resurrected. The stories were hard to believe. "Lively as ever, Steward." She called, crossing her arms to strike a stance of unaligned hips and attitude abound. "Thank you Pilar, for bringing me to see her." Regi stepped forward on stumpy legs, each step gradually yielded to a shift in the child's form until she became her naga form complete at the Armchair's side.


Pilar was just happy to be of service... and to spend time in her teacher's company. "Of course, Reginae," she said. She watched the child change in form to a naga, and she sighed lightly. So powerful, so graceful, so beautiful. But this was no time to be mooning over her. There was business to discuss. Though once again, Pilar really brought nothing to the table. She was but a small player in this game, a messenger, nothing more.


Hildegarde looked up at the familiar voice, rising out of the armchair and pointing the tip of the blade to the floor before offering Reginae a particularly graceful flourish of a bow. “My lady,” she said fondly. “I don’t know why you take the form of a child,” she said it thoughtfully, evidently not meaning any offense. Once Reginae had taken her more natural form, the Silver reached out to grasp her hand lightly and bestow a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. “My lady, I am glad to see you. You must forgive me… but death is not a thing we can often undo or stop. I know you must be eager to talk of our business.” The knight glanced from Pilar to Reginae, wondering what exactly the connection was. Had Pilar told her before? She couldn’t quite recall. “Please, Pilar, make yourself comfortable.”


Reginae smiled broadly to hear Hildegarde's voice. It was indeed her, or a very strongly cast illusion. No, something in the woman knew this was not tricky. Though, the greeting caught her off guard and summoned several threads of blush to her cheeks as she let the conversation lull into something familiar. There could no longer be doubt to the woman's livelihood. She was lively, beyond question and so -warm-. Her energy was also something of note. "Children of oft invisible, ignored when traveling." A wry grin forced her fanged teeth to appear through her pale lips. "Attracts less attention." She forced on the conversation to keep her wits about her. The naga had never received such a greeting before, almost as if there were no pending plans of battle or bloodshed. The teacher gave her student a fond smile. "She's grow so." Regi comments to Hildegarde, offhandedly with a tenderness normally reserved for Naga kin. "Pilar tells me some brute is trying to strong arm his way into ownership Frostmaw but already you have him running scared." Her tone is level, hardly dire, like the three of them were exchanging a familiar joke between them.


Pilar hung back and watched the interaction between the two from a distance. She wondered herself why Reginae liked to walk around looking like a child, and nodded along to her explanation. Made perfect sense to her. She watched the bow and the kiss and thought it looked very much like a knight addressing a queen. Which is kind of was, even if Reginae wasn't a queen yet. Emphasis on 'yet.' She had the blood of queens in her veins, and the bearing of one. She would make a fine ruler one day. Pilar hoped she would live to see it. The upcoming battle would be treacherous, and after that, she would be attempting a dangerous ritual. And after THAT, she would be mortal again. But that was for another time. Upon hearing Reginae's remark, Pilar pipes up, "That is not ~quite~ what I said... But close enough."


Hildegarde chortled at the exchange between Pilar and Reginae, finally letting go of Reginae’s hand so she might sheathe the short-sword at her hip. It would be unlucky to have bare steal during this type of discussion, she felt. “Ah, I had not thought of the uses in being disguised as a child. How clever!” she praised, “But of course a woman of your intelligence had thought of such. I am but a brute with a weapon!” she smiled, evidently making a joke to further lighten this conversation. “Yes. Balgruuf the Bloody Beard,” she said the name with only a hint of contempt. “I don’t imagine he’ll be running scared. He is a seasoned commander and tactician. He’ll be frightened of not knowing what I’m doing here, not knowing my every move, but beyond that… I suspect he’ll be closing his grip around Frostmaw. Which is why I must find my allies and find them soon if I am to liberate my people,” she said, her voice becoming passionate every time she mentioned her people. It was clear to anyone that Hildegarde deeply loved Frostmaw and would do anything to protect the people.


Reginae 's smile didn't slack. The naga recognized her own passion in Hildegarde's eyes; a love for the people she aimed to protect, even at the cost of her life. Perhaps a second time? "A brute with a sword," she chuckled deep in her throat. "That's a good one." She shook her head, throwing powdery white strands into a mess before they floated back to rest against her pale cheeks. "If he's having to resort to forcing citizens to join his cause, I would say he's afraid. He doesn't hold unanimous support, and his reaction of dishonorable force is hardly notable beyond the poor citizens that endure his slavery." Her sharp Azurite eyes fall back on Pilar for a moment. "My student also tells me things are getting worse." Her tone evens out from the familiar speech of friends to the sturdy determination of allies. "Of course, it goes without saying that you have my full support in the war to come, as well as this instant." The edges of her eyes softened, the lids folding down in empathy. Would that she could give Hildegarde the might of a thousand armies. "I will give you all I am able."


Pilar shook her head at Hildegarde's self-deprecation. Hilde was so much more than a brute with a sword... but of course, everyone who knew her knew that. She marveled at how Hildegarde could speak of the man with anything less than seething hatred in her voice. Patience when it came to others was yet another one of Hilde's many virtues, it seemed. She nodded along to Reginae's assessment, though when she caught her eye, the vampire blushed. Her eyes were so pretty...


Lionel moves like a man possessed, through evening streets and undead swarms, clad as he is in his ornate ebony mail with cloth-of-gold trim and crimson mane. Crowds stare in his wake. The hooves of his Venturil mare clank against polished road and splash where it’s wet; a heavy mist and a growing rain surround them. At one point, another mounted rider, cloaked and hunched, seems to consider blocking the man’s way. This is short-lived; the size of Lionel’s fabled blade, the incarnadine pulses that shimmer and vibrate all about its sheathed form, set the stranger to scurrying. At the entryway of his chosen destination, two giants, less fazed, eye the dark knight with deep scrutiny and don’t flinch from their posts. Even Hellfire in its sheath does not compel them to allow him passage. “The lady – do you know her, human?” One of them asks, not calmly. “I most certainly do,” Lionel responds, leaping from his horse and stepping briskly past them. It could have come to blows, but it doesn’t. As he steps inside the great hall, its great fire granting his light features and striking blue gaze an almost otherworldly aspect, he briefly regards the pair of people wholly unfamiliar to him before speaking just three short words. “Hello again, Hildegarde.”


Hildegarde nodded in agreement with Reginae. It was slavery or borderline slavery what Balgruuf was doing, but it seemed out of character for a man who valued honour and the traditional ways. “I think his son, Balder, has much to do with the more sinister aspects of this coup. Not to say that Balgruuf is guilt or sin free, but I believe his son has a hand in this. I would not have him in the city watch… he seemed far too cruel,” the knight said, an expression on her face similar to that of when a child tastes something they don’t particularly like. As Reginae goes on to offer aid, the knight cannot help but smile truly; that champion grin that she had flashed to so many people in so many different situations. “I know, Reginae. I thank you deeply for it. I, er… I promised you an alliance between us; between Frostmaw and Alithrya. I mean it, m’lady. If we are not bonded already by the belief in Aramoth, then let us be bonded in our belief of liberty and kindness,” she said it thoughtfully, so heartfelt as her hand extended to Reginae for a shake; for the traditional warrior’s shake of hands grasping forearms. That was when Lionel entered, Mikael and Lisbeth hot on his heels. They’re ready to challenge him and question who the hell he is until those three short words. So he did know the lady. The knight turned to look upon the visitor, recognising him instantly as the man from the tavern. “Lionel. Are you well?” she asked immediately, knowing that when she had last seen him, he had been sucker punched.


Reginae told Hildegarde's words to heart, offering her own hand to grasp at the warriors forearms. Kindness was not a term highly valued by the Naga, but Regi would work to see it come to be, at least in the capacity of other races. Xenophobic histories were hard to rewrite. Just as her fingers clasp around Hildegarde's forearm, a stranger appears. The ritual handshake completes itself in the wake of this new development and leaves the naga woman's arms free to cross against her chest, assessing the situation. He didn't appear to be an assassin so she held her tongue a moment long to let them converse, then would come the time for introductions. This man appeared to be an ally of the Stewardess so Reginae saw fit to stiffen her tail ever so slightly an approach the male with her name. "Reginae, of Alithrya." she stated flatly. She wasn't inclined to grant affection to people she did not know, though she wasn't without her own warmth, in her own way. Her lethal gaze held him cautiously, saying little while holding each member gathered her with as much attention as she could grant. "Lady Hildegarde," for that was the title Regi had always known her to have, and always would regardless of the outcome of battles ahead. Her words were questioning, as if she'd hoped to know who this man was and how he'd gotten past her guards without incident. The most pressing question on her mind; was he to be trusted?


Pilar felt more and more at ease as the two exchanged words, and then the warrior's handshake. All these allies coming to Hildegarde's side. Surely they could win this fight! Lionel's sudden entrance startled the timid vampire, and with a squeak she scrambled to get out of his way as he rushed in, pursued by two unhappy giants. What was all this, then? A spy? An assassin? An... ally? Well, Hildegarde wasn't running at him, sword drawn, so Pilar thought she could relax a bit. Her teacher's mannerisms, though, gave her pause. She had been betrayed twice in the past month, and her benefactor's words of warning still rang in her head. Perhaps she would do well to remember to keep her guard up. She didn't offer her name, nor say anything to the knight at all. She just watched, as she had been.


Lionel saunters up to the trio with the grace of a hurried schoolchild. Behind him, two giants slow their approach and allow him to carry forth; perhaps they bristle at the relatively cordial way in which he is greeted. Still, the man is every bit suspicious. Dressed for war, features like a sensationalized mythic figure, sword at his side that even now many will know by name. And yet, something is keenly off here. Could it be that the stories are apt? Was Lionel always so unlike a classical knight? He’s smirking and sneering, and waving his free arm about as if talking of weather and grocery orders. Upon closer inspection, however, his arm is not free – it’s wielding a dilapidated book of some thickness, which the man brings forward like some literary peace offering. “Lady Hildegarde,” he corrects himself with a quick cant to the Naga Reginae. He also winks. “Lady Hildegarde,” he repeats with a sigh. By now he’s just a few meters away, but it appears even he knows when to stop. He pauses there and speaks his piece. “You could also have phrased that question, ‘how is your rib?’ Alternatively, ‘how is your head?’ Especially poignant would be, ‘did the girl from two nights ago not kill you, then?’ All good questions. The answer is always yes, I’m fine.” There are some real contradictions in that tangent, but he’s in no hurry to recognize them. “Lionel,” he introduces himself to Reginae and Pilar. “I’m here to apply for a job, yeah? I’d like the position involving the retaking of your kingdom from cruel despots. I have brought character references.” He offers Hildegarde the book. The title, though faded, reads plainly: ‘A History of Hollow, Volume II.’ Lionel’s name appears 899 times. Usually he’s killing bad guys.


Hildegarde enjoyed offering formalities to everyone, but she never liked to have them put upon herself. When she is dubbed as ‘Lady Hildegarde’, she shakes her head and lifts her hand as if to say it wasn’t necessary, “Please. I am Hildegarde and nothing more,” she was no lady by traditional means. Her behaviour was certainly not ladylike. Yet soon she is being handed a job and being spoken to about a job position. “It’s not exactly my kingdom,” she murmured quietly, but she had stewardship over it. “Reginae, this is Lionel. Lionel, this is Reginae and this is Pilar. They are friends of mine,” she explained, trying to make peace quickly between the strangers-turned-acquaintances. “I appreciate the thought, but do you truly want to fling yourself into war and into battle…?” Meaning she had been concerned about his outburst.


Reginae narrows her optics at this Lionel person but holds her distance, hiding the scowl of a scolded child beneath her cool and collected exterior. How could Hildegarde dismiss her title?! For the same reasons they made Reginae herself uncomfortable, the naga reasoned, turning her face to meet Pilar's gaze and offering her a reassuring nod. If the Ice Dragon trusted this man, so should they within reason. And what did he carry? A...formal application? Regi looked around the room to check the gazes of all involved, to see if this was marked as strange before holding her position at the edge of the conversation. It was tactless to hold an ally in such cold regards, so she attempted to bridge the distance, for Hildegarde's sake. "Impressive References," she remarks with a quirked brow. It should be that any man willing to lay down his life to fight for Frostmaw would be welcomed but the naga was cold blooded, so no warm welcome could be offered on her end. She did not dislike him.


Pilar had to admit, this was not what she expected. Who was this man, exactly? A glory hound who heard about the conflict and decided to fight in an attempt to get fame and recognition? She dipped her head when she was introduced, but stayed silent. She was far enough away that she couldn't read the title on the book, and so had no idea what his 'references' could be. Well, if Reginae said they were impressive... Or was that sarcasm? Argh, she was so not a 'banter' person.


Lionel doesn’t spare a second, nodding enthusiastically at the silver dragon’s concern. “Of course,” he exclaims. “I mean, it’s what I do.” The book expressly mentions it, even. Lionel is a man out of time. Not literally, per se – a decade ago in this realm seems as distant as a century in others – but truly, he’s here from another era. In his era, he was brash and headstrong, but a hero through and through. Above all, he was impulsive, throwing himself into countless conflicts he ought to have been killed by. He’s still impulsive, and he’s crazier than ever. And he isn’t used to all these reasonably normal people. Which isn’t to say that these people aren’t extraordinary, but next to the sorts he’s consorted with in life, they’re the very picture of proper, here in their hall with their plans and their promises. In fact, he can’t recall seeing anything like this since… he bites his lip. Since he was the sort of person who planned and promised in halls, he realizes bitterly. Hildegarde blushes up a fluster at her title just like Kalid herself might have done. Memories threaten to overwhelm the fragile man, but he holds firm. He tretracts the book, silently grateful that Hildegarde isn’t ‘Donovan Keane’ enough to start thumbing through for confirmation. “Reginae. Pilar.” A slight cant of the head. He may or may not have eyed them in the proper order. He snaps his finger, ignoring the bright beams of red pulsing rapidly around Hellfire’s sheath, matching the tempo of his excitement. “It’s really just that simple. Point me in the direction of the devious usurper folk, and let me have a go at them.” He nods.


Hildegarde frowned slightly at the abrupt reply of ‘it’s what I do’. She felt the good in this man, the concern he had when they had last met. But now? She wasn’t so sure. As he moves to retract the book, the knight’s fingers tighten their hold on the book, “I should like to hold onto this. I prefer to do my reading in private,” she said, pausing for a moment to test his reaction, “if you don’t mind that is?” she added finally, with just a little smile. “It’s not that simple. Pointing someone in the direction and saying ‘go get’ is… it’s not proper. You’re a man. You’re a being, by Aramoth!” The Silver shook her head, as if she was unable to understand how someone could think like that. “You can join my cause, that is not in question. But I’m not going to throw you against the enemy as if you are… as if you are fodder,” she muttered. “That goes for anyone. No one is fodder to me.” The knight turned on her heel, taking the book with her if Lionel did not insist on reclaiming it, “Thank you, Reginae, for coming here. If you wish to stay the evening, please, speak with the steward of this estate. They will find you a room. I would not like to exhaust you in making you travel far,” she reasoned. The Silver turned and looked at Lionel, “You can stay. I want to talk to you more.”


Reginae could appreciate the level of confidence and...brashness this warrior presented. He was quite possibly insane, she thought, watching him move about with the energy of a court jester. If wars were won by guile alone...Frostmaw would already be back in the hands of Hildegarde with all the residents safely tucked into to their beds. By Aramoth was right! Hildegarde's words sang a similar tune as her own unease about this man. Lionel, as he was called. He wore a face that didn't match the rest of him...heavy armor, monumental sword. It didn't add up to her just yet, and she loved complicated riddles. "I will stay another day or so, I would like to hear your plans and what the future holds." The naga's tone is only the slightest bit jagged. It was strange to speak fondly to a person in times of war, let alone in front of a crazy person. "Pilar, would you accompany me?" She asked, a smile growing on her lips to soothe the vampire's uneasy state. "I'm still a novice of this area. Until we meet again." Hildegarde and Lionel are both met with a quick bow at the waist, the meeting point of her human torso and scaly snake bottom bits. Afterwards, Pilar will be engaged in a light hearted conversation about snails most likely. May Aramoth pity her.


Pilar was yet a third person put off by Lionel's mannerisms. Yes, most definitely a glory hound, by her estimate. And probably a little unhinged. Really, her thoughts were pretty much in line with what Hilde and Regi were thinking, and adding anything else would be redundant. She was glad for Regi's "get out of crazy town free" card, and quickly approached the naga's side. "Yes, of course, Reginae." She curtsied to Hildegarde and Lionel. "Goodbye, Hildegarde. Goodbye, Sir Lionel." She would follow Reginae out the door and would listen to her chatter about snails. She would listen to Reginae chatter about anything.


Lionel only mildly registers Pilar’s and Reginae’s departures. Something borderline polite forms on his face as they regard him in their polite though entirely apprehensive manners, but he scarcely realizes any of it on a conscious level. He’s too transfixed with Hildegarde’s rebuttal. Letting the book pass from one hold to another, he notes dryly, “you’ll be reading that in private for a good long time. Lots and lots of words in that one.” He tenses up somewhat. When next he’ll speak, it will be remarkably somber, versus anything else he’s said in this hall. That’s the thing about Lionel. He flips to and fro as if two separate men. “You have a lot of reading to do.” Hellfire’s bright veins of internal fire turn duller, darker. “But tomes are often so totally wrong about the way things were, so I’ll come to the point. Throwing myself at the enemy isn’t what I do. That’s bad phrasing. Throwing myself at the enemy is what I did.” He chins up at the book and shuts his eyes into a sigh. “A man called Donovan used to rebuke me in your fashion. He saved my life on more than occasion. But mostly, I just leaped before I looked, and somehow that was always just barely enough to keep Hollow from going to hell.” Like Catal. Lionel’s eyes open and a stray tear rolls down, unannounced. He wonders now what else could show up in this hall that would make him shiver so.


Caedan isn’t here; at least, she isn’t immediately visible. But per her usual habit, she’s haunting areas where she doesn’t belong, listening to conversations to which she shouldn’t be privy. She skulks around the statues above, climbing along stone limbs with predictably little effort. She finds a place to settle, tucked away in the crook of a Vakamatharas effigy’s arm, one leg draped over his sickle. She shifts around, trying to get comfortable. She removes her sword from its bindings upon her back and holds it. A few minutes later, as Lionel finishes speaking, Vakamatharas’s stone head tumbles loose from the statue’s shoulders and plummets toward the unsuspecting one-time hero.


Jesen emerges into the great hall in the wake of two leaving, using this to cover his entrance as best he can as he tries not to draw too much attention upon himself. His leather armor is concealed by a green cloak, but that doesn't matter. Why you ask? Because before he even has the option of trying to remain lowkey, the highborn's keen eyes find Lionel, and only due to his position down the hall can the elf see the massive stone head falling towards the main reason he travelled down to this forsaken kingdom of the dead. That damnable O'Connor. But there isn't time to see how this plays out, as another can be seen in close proximity of the hero of wars long past, thus forcing the ranger to interven as best he can. With a quickness known by elven kind is his bow drawn, an arrow knocked back and careful aim taken. Whispered words of the arcane escape the archer's lips, edged with a thick rynvalian accent that is noteably different from that of his wood elf kin. You think all elves talk alike? The arrow he unleashes is charged with arcane energy, and it flies across the hall at startling speed to collide with the forehead of the Vakmatharas effigy. This is where that arcane energy is released, expelled once the arrow shatters against the stone. Its powerful enough to split the stone in two halves, falling ti each side of Lionel in a dangerously close distance, but leaving the man unharmed for the most part if he doesn't move. The dust that rises as a result of the crashing stone upon the great hall floor is used to help conceal the ranger's movements, as keen elven eyesight has him spotting a dark figure up above those gathered. Another arrow is drawn and sent forth in much the same manner, though this one isn't the same. This one erupts in brilliant light as it nears its mark, illuminating that what is trying to hide as Jesen calls out to Lionel. " O'Connor, from above!" As he readies another arrow, carefully watching the still area where the dark figure just was, as it seems they have once more blended back into the darkness. So much for a casual introduction.


Hildegarde turned on her heel with a near offended look, or a look that definitely read as ‘what did you say?’ She could devour that tome in a night, she was sure of it! In fact, she was ready to argue about it until the man began to explain that the man in the book is different from the one standing across from her. That he may have once leapt into battle and that he may still do it, but that he did it only to save a land from the brink. “We barely know each other… but I sense your word to be true. I don’t know you. Not really. But I cannot allow you to *throw* yourself into battle on my behalf. Gladly, so gladly, let you stand by my side as my equal. But don’t throw yourself into battle as if you are meaningless,” she said gently. Of course, what gentle words might further come from the knight are put to an abrupt halt as the cracking of stone resounds throughout the castle and the effigy of the demonic god begins to fall to the floor. The knight isn’t one to leave things to chance and she doesn’t expect anyone else to enter the grand hall so she does what she is berating Lionel for: she leaps. “Lionel!” she said the name in a breath, body leaping at his to steer him clear from the falling stone but Jesen’s magical arrow has split the stone in two. Where Hildegarde has landed with Lionel beneath her, the stone is now falling. The knight, however, has no time to move and instead hunches awkwardly over the legendary knight. The stone crashes against her armoured back with a crackling thud, the stone breaking into smaller pieces; rubble cascading off her back as she is pressed against Lionel. The flat of her hand pressed against the floor to keep her arm propped up a little and give Lionel his breathing room, but to protect his body and his organs. The woman is no mortal woman. She can take the brunt of the stone, but it would undoubtedly be painful. “Okay?” the question comes out in a choked whisper. Pain takes away the words.


Lionel no longer feels out of place at all. In his view, nothing says ‘welcome back’ quite like a stone head descending and a no-mortal-woman taking the brunt of its impact and an illuminating arrow briefly showcasing a terrible perpetrator. No, this is all just as well. A moment ago, Hildegarde had spoken such lovely words about offers of equality and chided meaningfully over the man’s kamikaze callousness. In that moment, Lionel had listened, and seen Donovan’s face take form over her own, and smiled – smiled that he knew Donovan was alive. But all that is peanuts next to all this. Jesen’s voice drowns out the woman’s; something is said about someone above. The dark knight does what he thinks best; he gingerly, so gingerly, taps Hildegarde in the shoulder as a showing of thanks, scoots wayward of her arm-upheld lay above him, and jumps into the air, defying the weight of his armor and drawing his sword. Hellfire shines with such profound blaze as to light up and heat the entire hall; this is in truth no exaggerated weapon. In that guiding light, Caedan’s form is blatant. In that pivotal revelation, Lionel collapses into a sloped exasperation, and his words are just and fair. “Aw, hell. Would you – would you just get down from there? Aw, hell no.”


Caedan remains still and silent throughout the ensuing theatrics — the brilliant arrow, which has her lifting a hand to shield her eyes, then Hellfire and its grave complaint. Her only emotion is a slight furrow of her brows when Hildegarde shields the knight, but it’s replaced by something neutral and accompanied by a long sigh, even as Lionel shouts up at her. After a second of stubborn indecision, she unwinds herself from Vakamatharas’s arms and climbs down a few more statues before cleanly dropping to the floor. She lands hard, but on her feet, then straightens. She eyes Lionel. “You should be more careful.” Then, to Hildegarde, “Are you okay?” And lastly, to Jesen, “Put that away. What have you brought me as penance?”


Jesen watches as the heavily armored woman collasped upon Lionel, to then see him rise and fly up to meet the aggressor in this ordeal, only to stay his hand. He knows the person who just tried to drop the God of Death's head down upon him? Well, that speak volumes now doesn't it? As that heatwave expelled by Hellfire wafts over them all briefly, Jesen makes his way to the knight and offers a hand for her to get up. "Quite a hit, you're damn tough." To the strange woman who seems to demand penance, he only offers a quirk of the brow and a look as he says to Lionel. "You've intersting friends, O'Connel."


Hildegarde rolled off of the knight and onto her back while he sought out Caedan; seemingly chasing her down from the ceiling just with his words. The Silver waved her hand as Jesen offered out his own to help her up, “A moment,” she begged him. Her back ached from the impact and the floor felt kind of comfortable in that moment! Assuming Jesen wouldn’t rescind the offer immediately, the knight would eventually reach out to grasp his wrist and help herself up onto her feet. As Caedan asks if she’s okay, the Silver offered her a little – albeit tired – smile, “I’m okay, thank you,” her back ached, but she would live! But… maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas to ask why Caedan had tried to kill Lionel. Or vandalised her host’s home.


Lionel is juxtaposing the sheathing of a monstrous blade (and in so doing, the discernible dimming and chilling of a sizable room) with the look of pure horror he’s flashing Caedan. He’s still flashing her readily as she talks nonsense at the other occupants, and as he turns around to check on Hildegarde, the horror is still being broadcast at peak volumes. He’s watching Jesen help her up, and he’s registering Jesen’s comment about interesting friends, and then he snaps around at the Rynvalian elf for long enough to allow his horror to twist into a blinking disbelief. He takes a single step in Caedan’s direction – the bravest thing he’s done all day, and he ambushed two frost trolls who were stalking a lone wolf pup, it should be noted – and shakes his head adamantly. “Hildegarde,” he addresses her despite keeping his gaze fixed on the fellow Catalian. “Sorry about the mess.”


Caedan seems to give the appearance of genuine concern as she surveys Hildegarde, though she doesn’t venture closer, wary of Lionel and his apparent cohort. She lifts her chin as Lionel turns to address her, but she finds herself taking a step back, marginally chastened. But her chin is still set at a stubborn angle, and her eyes burn with anger, still. As Lionel addresses Hildegarde while staring at her, she answers for Hildegarde, while staring at Lionel. “She’s upset that her host’s home has been damaged during her tenure because of you, but she forgives you.” Something might be lost in the translation there, some shifting of the blame, but that’s the general gist of it. The psychic sways backward but keeps her footing. She lifts a hand to rest on the hilt of the sword strapped to her back, holding it there, just in case because you can never trust a Catalian.


Jesen did indeed keep that hand out, even after the knight asked for a moment. But all the while his attention is on Lionel and the strange girl. He sees O'Connor's expressions, sees recognition, and anger, in the eyes of the woman, and comes to a vague understanding that things may get very real at any moment. But, there is also something else there, and underlining point to this encounter. One, the girl looks no older than maybe young twenties, yet she friggin' cleaved a statues head off with ease. And the way she is speaking, talking for the knight, it speaks that there is far more than meets the eye with her. "Right. Seems your busy, so.." He knows when he doesn't need to be somewhere, and truth be told he has no clue what the hell is going on, but he is in the castle of a foreign land, an uninvited guest and in the middle of a possible squabble that ins't his own. "I'll be at the tavern.. I'll let you deal with this... stuff." Seeing that the knight is up and on her feet, the ranger starts to take his leave.


Hildegarde raised her hand immediately, “There will be peace in this keep!” she announced in a voice that brooked no argument. “You are welcome to stay in this here castle, but there will be peace,” she said it firmly, glancing between Caedan and Lionel. “You,” she addresses Jesen, “if you are staying at the tavern, please let me know and I shall foot your bill. You tried to save a man’s life and no such thing ought to go unrewarded,” again, that voice that would brook no argument. “I’m going to bed, it’s late and I have much reading to do,” she said, crouching down briefly to scoop the book up off the floor. “Peace under this roof.” Aramoth preserve whoever didn’t keep peace.


Lionel is being left alone with Caedan Navarre. It’s probable that neither of these other characters realize what a character she is. He’s only beginning to come to grips with it himself. But so far their relationship has been very straightforward, typically in the direction of Caedan to Lionel, and of the composition of foreign objects headed his way. Still, there’s something in the woman’s words that not only haunts him, but despite every sense, somehow almost soothes him. As he observes her, his face fading from disgust into tired acceptance, and as he listens to her psychic analysis, he backs down entirely. Which is just as well, as Hildegarde’s vehemence would likely have had the same effect, anyway. “Yes,” he announces in a pleasantly normal voice, taking his eyes off of Caedan at last and nodding and smiling at Jesen and the Silver One. “Thank you both for trying to save my life. I haven’t been struck by a god in too long, and I fear one grows sluggish over these things. We’ll speak later.”


Caedan stares hard at Lionel, but when he stands down, so does she, hand sliding from the hilt of her weapon … which is not to promise it won’t be back there, but for the moment, it appears she’s taking Hildegarde’s … request … under some amount of consideration. She watches the knight depart with an expression that’s hard to render in words — some mixture of fondness and protectiveness, laced with the roiling anger she feels at her present company. The result is some bizarre combination of fury and friendliness. Her face is a non-sequitur basically. After Hildegarde departs, she rounds on Lionel, hands twitching, but neither going for any weapons. “I was struck by a god.” She gestures upward at the beheaded statue. “He kept me like a pet. And my brother did not come.” She narrows her eyes.


Lionel is back to being pensive now. He’s back to being statuesque, as luck would have it. Apparently, all it takes is being left in a room alone with the survivor of his late, great civilization to trigger a reversion to looking and feeling three feet down in the ground. How to describe his face? It’s a mess of his own making. If Caedan’s eyes are narrow, his are wide and distant. He sees her, but he sees past her. And if her telepathy is attuned, she might feel a sudden rush of perhaps the most powerful self-loathing she will ever detect. “Me too,” he says. He’s still looking right past her. In his vision, Alexia is standing behind her. Beside her? Within her? Without her? Where is Alexia? She is everywhere. He can’t focus; she dissolves. Then it’s just the two of them again and he grimaces and snaps. “I was locked away and ripped apart and rescued from the brink. Over and over. Over and out. I hope that pleases you in some small way.”


Caedan interrupts, nearly before Lionel is finished speaking, already incensed by his words. “No. What you have gone through is nothing, _nothing_ compared to what others have suffered _because_ of you, Lionel O’Connor, _Prince_ of Catal.” His title is added with a sneer. “It doesn’t please me. Nothing you can do will ever please me. Not even die. It’s too good for you and you don’t deserve to get to go home and see your friends from lifetimes ago, welcoming you home, adoring you for the hero you’re masquerading to be.” She moves toward him, stalks toward him. “Who are you fooling? Throwing yourself into another war that isn’t yours so you don’t have to face what you’ve done? You don’t fool me. You never have.”


Lionel flares and starts toward her even before he realizes that she’s thinking to stalk him so. He cannot recall having felt this much anger since he found Catal aflame. Every ounce of him feels hot and bothered. Hellfire nearly bursts from its sheath, an incarnadine wave of pure heat snaking its way around its surface and pumping steady vitriol across the spirited blade. “Don’t call me that! Don’t call me prince! Don’t you get it? Don’t you have even a bit of sense? If you can feel what I’m feeling, can’t you realize there is no war left for me but the wars of others?” He takes another step. “I don’t seek adoration! I was barely ever a prince and I don’t seek adoration! And I’m not looking to fool you – all I wanted was your freedom! If I choose to throw myself away, then whether you’re satisfied or disgusted, it’s my decision!” She has an effect on him.


Caedan continues to round on Lionel, tracking a semi-circle around him as he stalks toward her. She’s still twitching, hand reaching for her sword every so often before she forces it back to her side. She can feel the heat from Hellfire on her face, but it’s the knowledge that she’s upset the one-time hero that truly warms her. She continues to sneer at him. “My freedom was never yours to grant or withhold. Saving me doesn’t bring him back.” She wants to shove him, to beat at his chest, to unsheathe Hellfire and cleave his head from his shoulders. She doesn’t. She stares accusingly at the knight for another protracted second before stalking away and disappearing into the ample shadows.


Caedan vanished before your eyes, perhaps never to be seen again.


Lionel stands in that hall for the rest of the evening.